too much for her, and she nearly fainted again. On being gently told that the train had gone, she fell into a paroxysm of despair.

"I must go! I am lost! He will think I would not come !'—and many other ejaculations of the same sort the poor creature poured forth incoherently; but I am a bad reporter of female utterances, and, save to my English ears, what she said was entirely unintelligible. I gathered, however, that some important result depended on her crossing the English Channel by the packet which left on the arrival of the train which had just gone, that her funds were nearly exhausted, and that even to wait for the next train would be fatal to her plans.

"Finding myself unexpectedly obliged to act as interpreter, as she sat in the station-house the picture of clamorous despair, I introduced myself to her as her countryman, expressed my hope that she would allow me to be of service to her, and begged her to compose herself, while I went to inquire what could be done.

"I accordingly had an interview with the railway officials, as to the possibility of obtaining a special train to overtake that which had just left. At first, of course, the thing was impossible; and then, equally of course, a few napoleons made it possible; and after more than half an hour had elapsed, I had made my bargain for a special engine and carriage.

"I found my heroine in a state of great exhaustion and despondency; but when I informed her of what I had done, her excitement returned, and her protestations of gratitude were unbounded."

"So you and the lady started by special train, did you?" said I.

"Of course," replied Dagentree. "In a few minutes our train was ready, and we started just in time to make it possible that we might accomplish our object. As we careered along, she told me her history."

And this history, as my friend's manner was slightly embarrassed, I shall give to my readers in the first person.

"My married name is Emily Trench. My husband is a civil engineer, who was lately employed on one of the large railways which are now in the course of construction in the neighbourhood of Amiens. My marriage-it is a sad story, sir-was against my father's wish, and, I fear, broke his heart. He was a clergyman in a rural parish in Gloucestershire; and I was all to him, as little Harry now is to me. Henry, my husband, came down to our neighbourhood, on the recommendation of Mr Locke, and, having good looks and good manners, became a general favourite; but my father, who disliked railways and all connected with them, conceived an antipathy to him

from the first. It was the old tale; but we loved, and owned it to each other, and I eloped from my father's house to be married. The old man never looked up again, and died before we had returned from our wedding tour. It was so hard. I had written beseeching his forgiveness for myself and Henry; and I had thought so much of how I would soothe him when I came back, and win him to like my husband, and how happy we should all be together; and he was dead, and I never was to see him or hear his voice again.

"I did not feel the shadow as I do now. I was happy in my new position. My husband was very kind to me, and I put away the thought of my disobedience and my loss.

"A year and a half ago we came over here, and after a little, somehow my husband seemed to change. I could not tell what caused the change, and hardly in what it consisted; but I saw thoughts in his face which he never spoke, and I could not be happy while I saw them. He began to be more frequently absent from home, and I found on more than one occasion that he was seen with companions of whom he said nothing to me. We never quarrelled or had discussions on these matters, and outwardly were as loving as ever; but we both knew that there was a drop which made our cup less sweet than

it had been; I deserved it; but scarcely what followed.

"One morning I awoke early, and was surprised to find that my husband was not beside me. With a sinking presage of ill, I arose, and found on my table a note addressed to me in his handwriting. I opened it. It contained a bank order for a thousand francs, and a few lines, in which he said that circumstances he could not explain to me compelled him to leave me for a few weeks; that it concerned his interests that this should not be known; that he would write to me in a few days, and that in the meantime he had left me money enough for my wants until his return.

"The words were kind, though cold. But I could not understand the occurrence, and felt sure something must be wrong. His reticence-for he was generally communicative-had the worst augury for me. From that day until this morning I have never heard one word from him. To-day I received a letter from a shipbroker in Liverpool, saying that he had heard from my husband, who was in America, and that a letter from him to me was in his hands, but that he had not sent it, not being sure of my address, especially as it was absolutely necessary that I should sail by the steamer which leaves the Mersey tomorrow afternoon.

"You cannot imagine the dreadful misery of these

last months. I was forbidden to speak, and did not know what mischief I might do if I did. My money I saw melting away, and my last farthing paid for my journey to London by the last train. But for your kindness, I had been utterly ruined."

Such," continued Dagentree, "was her history. The shock, acting on her enfeebled frame, had greatly prostrated her; and as we dashed along past fields and villages, towns and stations-our way being prepared for us by telegraph-she could speak no more; and even the care of the little one devolved

on me.

“I like children—especially lisping ones. There is music in their infantine voices, and little guile in their honest hearts. So when Harry woke up, he and I had a long talk together during that strange ride in the evening. What we talked of mattered little: chiefly of Harry's shoes, and the comparative merits of red shoes and blue shoes; and whether Harry could or would throw me out of the window-on the probability of which he descanted with much gravity; and such like important and weighty matters. His mother fell into deep sleep, and Harry prattled himself again to repose; and as I looked at the two, I wondered what fate had in store for them.

Suddenly, a whistle and a yell from our engine. We are at Calais; and through the darkness there is